


when is a monster not a monster?

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, By Which I Mean The OC Is a Poet, Lucian History, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Winding up in a new universe on his twenty-sixth birthday was not in Charlie's plan but things went to hell and here he is anyway.Might as well become a poet.“Tell me what I don’t know,” Charlie asks near the end of their lunch, “And I will ensure it will be told.”Ardyn's grin is wicked and Charlie feels as though he's just signed a deal with the devil.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	when is a monster not a monster?

If a monster knows that he is a monster does he have a choice in that matter? Does he have a choice to discard the beast time and rage have made of him? Or is he still merely a pawn, merely a piece on the board where he should have been king? If the monster knows he is a monster and that he has no other option but to be the villain of this play-

Is he still a monster?

* * *

Ardyn knows that he cannot be kind. That the role he has been forced into will not allow it, will not allow for the inch of mercy that creeps across his soul when he sees those dead and dying. A different him would have saved them, and if not that would have comforted them in their final hours. A different him was a kind man, with mercy for all those who wandered across his path.

He can no longer afford to be such. Ardyn can no longer afford to be a gentle man, to be a man of virtue and sacrifice. He is no messiah, adorned with a crown of holy water and roses, there will be no mourning at his funeral for none will ever know the length and breadth of his tale. They will see a villain, a monster laid to rest and that is all his legacy will be.

Ardyn is a monster, he knows, and monsters do not get a second chance.

* * *

There’s a writer. A poet. A wordsmith with words lacquered on his tongue like the finest honey. The poet speaks of gods and monsters, of love and redemption and something in the words of this man causes Ardyn to stop his wanderings through the streets of Lestallum and listen.

“-and the end will be not of light;  
blaring loudly in our ears  
it will be a   
rose silence,  
a gentle mourning  
for we did not know what was lost.”

The poet speaks of an end, of the last days of darkness and a gentleness that came not from the dawn lingering over the heavens but from the silence of mourning something lost. Something they could not understand that had left them.

The poet ends his performance and the crowd before him murmurs as he bows. A nervous yet gentle smile crosses the poets lips -a slash of dark pink on pale brown skin- and the crowd applauds him.  
The poet bows, and when he rights himself once more his gaze meets Ardyn’s and the poet freezes as though he recognizes Ardyn.

Oh, Ardyn thinks as he claps slowly with the crowd, That’s interesting.

* * *

“Uh,” The poet stammers as the crowd fades and Ardyn approaches. The poet’s bright brown eyes darting around as though attempting to figure out the best way to escape Ardyn. “Hello.”

“Dear Wordsmith,” Ardyn grins at the man who fidgets with his shirt as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world, “May I ask for what inspired your performance? Though I only caught the tail end of it I must say that I found it… fascinating.”

The poet’s eyes widen, as though he’s been caught in a net there’s no way out of before he takes a breath and the confidence that he had while speaking to an audience shows itself once more.

“Only,” he says, lips turning downward in a frown, “If you buy me lunch.”

* * *

If someone knows that a terrible fate befalls a man who was once innocent does that person have the responsibility to try and right things? Charlie can almost hear his mother tell him yes, tell him that he has a duty to right the wrongs that have been set in stone throughout the history of this new world he finds himself in. Charlie can almost hear her say that if he has the chance to help someone that he should take it.

And Charlie knows the type of man that he is; knows that he cannot leave someone out there to suffer. That if he can even ease the suffering of a man the slightest bit that he will do it, not out of duty, but because the sight, the thought of someone else suffering and no one doing anything turns his guts into knots.

If he can do something, he will.

Perhaps that is why after he has lived in Lestallum, has made his name selling books and writing poetry, Charlie decides to step onto the street and recite the poem he had written for a man and god made villain. His voice and words draw a crowd, as he knew they would, and they stand and sit enraptured by the tale Charlie spins.

When a man approaches him, with wine dark hair and golden eyes Charlie almost faints.

Instead he gathers his courage and asks the man to buy him lunch.

* * *

Charlie the poet calls himself.

“That’s not a very poetic name,” Ardyn comments.

“You’re not very poetic,” Charlie replies, voice like ice as he sips the iced tea latte he had ordered from the bistro’s menu. 

Ardyn smirks, amused by the bite in Charlie’s voice and leans across the table just to watch Charlie’s eyes widen.

“So,” Ardyn asks, “I believe I was promised the details of what inspired your verse today.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow, the sun dancing over his brown hair turning it almost red in the light. 

“You,” the poet says, and despite the way he bites his bottom lip when Ardyn’s eyes take on a dangerous glint Charlie does not leave.

“Me?” Ardyn asks, voice as sweet as silk, “Why me?”

Charlie meets his gaze across the table. 

“You have a compelling story,” is all the poet says, “It deserves to be told.”

* * *

Ardyn should kill the man in front of him, this he knows. Ardyn should let the mans corpse fester and rot in an alley but-

It would be a shame to lose someone as skilled with words as Charlie is.

Ardyn can admit to himself that he wants to see what this strand of fate has in store for him. That he wants to see what becomes of this poet who knows far more than he should and yet doesn’t seem to know enough. He wants to see whether this poet will live or die and yet already there is a part of him that insists that if this poet dies it will be by Ardyn’s own hand.

“Not many would share your opinion,” Ardyn says and watches rage flare in Charlie’s brown eyes.

“Yeah,” Charlie says, “Well your family has always been full of idiots.”

“They are not mine.”

Charlie looks at him, like a writer analyzing their newest project.

“No,” he says, “I suppose they aren’t anymore at least.”

* * *

When you offer a monster a hand in friendship, when you choose to tell that monsters story to the world, does that make you a monster as well? Charlie wonders this as his mouth runs ahead of him.

“Tell me what I don’t know,” Charlie asks near the end of their lunch, “And I will ensure it will be told.”

Ardyn's grin is wicked and Charlie feels as though he's just signed a deal with the devil.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so the plan is for 3-5 chapters of yearning and ardyn learning to be a human again and other things.  
> anyway, hope you enjoyed, leave a comment on your way out pls.


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